One to Remember
by SiriuslovesRemus
Summary: Following the death of a loved one, Severus Snape learns to pick up the pieces and say goodbye. Sweet and tragic, Marauders era, featuring the all too rare pairing of Severus x Lily.


Wind blew, roughly mussing Severus Snape's longish black hair, but he hardly noticed as stray locks twisted in the wind and fell over his eyes. Half-blind with tears he could not blink back, Severus fell to his knees in the damp grass, his body shaking as he licked his lip and refused to surrender the sobs that clawed at his throat. Despite the grimace and the tight, defiant way he held his jaw, as if anger could wage a successful war against his sorrow, he was defenceless against the pain that welled up, reminded him in lurid detail everything his actions had cost him. My fault...all my fault.

Reaching forward, Severus traced the pad of his forefinger against the rough etching of the polished grey stone, his hand trembling as he ran his finger down the letters that spelled out Lily's name. Memories drifted to the surface; Lily laughing, her head tipped back to expose a pale throat as she smiled, eyes closed against the brilliance of the sun. Lily's hair flaring like fire in the evening glow of autumn twilight. Lily's hand brushing against his in the Potions classroom where they studied together some evenings. The worst memory, learning that the prophecy he had overheard, misunderstood and reported to Voldemort had been the Dark Lord's sole motivation for attacking the Potter family. Biting his lip, wincing against the stab of pain in his heart, Severus bent his head. He was not worthy to be here. He did not deserve this proximity to her grave marker, did not even deserve the bittersweet sting her memory evoked in him. Traitor, his mind whispered, and he bent his head, the tears falling freely now, dripping down onto the hard, frozen ground.

It had not yet begun to snow, though the clouds overhead threatened it, but the air was crisp and chill against the bare skin of Severus's face and hands. Pleased with the dull ache the cold caused his body, Severus touched the dry, yellowed grass beneath him. In Spring, flowers would grow here, he was certain of that, but in this season everything was hibernation, still and silent. It was hard to believe Lily could be here, buried beneath the place he now kneeled, immobile. Every memory Severus had of her was associated with life and vibrance; Lily had been a girl with a quick wit, sharp tongue, easy laugh. That she could be dead was unfathomable to him. He had avoided her funeral for just that reason, unwilling to see the body once filled with warmth and motion now stilled, stiff and unnaturally pale. On the morning she had been buried, Severus had refused to leave his bed, bundled under layers of blankets against the pervasive chill he could not shake. He had swallowed salty tears, feeling each one trickle down a throat hoarse from suppressed cries, and had hoped he might die of anguish, since death might afford him one more glimpse of her. He had rained anger down on himself, whispering curses and holding his wand in a splintering grip, letting himself grow furious because the rage lent him a superficial warmth, but too soon his anger had been spent and he had gone cold again. He had never been warm since that day, and doubted he ever would be again. He would not allow himself warmth, no matter how uncomfortable it was, no matter how meagre a sacrifice it made; if Lily's body no longer harboured heat, his would not either.

Severus had never tried to spare himself the grief, irregardless of what others thought. Rumours had reached his ears; those who had attended Hogwarts during their year thought he had not shown up for the funeral because it was too much for him, but that was not the truth at all. He simply had not felt he deserved to be there, in the same room as the family and friends that mourned her without really knowing her. He had not wanted to see Remus Lupin's accusing eyes seeking him out through the crowd, nor the child, a mirror-image of James Potter but most cruelly gifted with Lily's eyes, ensuring that every time Severus set eyes on the boy he would be reminded that James had won Lily in the end, but he would have faced them all, even Lily's Muggle parents and sister, if he had thought it would erase some of his guilt and responsibility. However, nothing ever would. He had brought this upon her by foolishly eavesdropping on Dumbledore and then taking information back to Voldemort, thus sealing Lily's fate and that of her husband, not that Severus cared much for the loss of James. Attending her funeral -- crying alongside those who had never said an unkind word in her direction, kissing her cold cheek because it was the only time he would ever be able to kiss her -- would have been even worse a betrayal, or so Severus had felt when he had decided not to go.

Now, a month later, he was not so sure. Could Lily have possibly wanted him there, a shadowy figure in black on whom suspicion was already being cast? Although he had insulted her fifth year, she had forgiven him easily the following summer and the two of them had forged a friendship based in their mutual interest in Potions. She had been the kindest person he had known at school, always willing to offer him her time and attention. She had known how he felt about her, Severus knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt, but she had never seemed offended by his interest and had welcomed his friendship. As the weeks had gone by, Severus had felt more and more ashamed that he had not paid his last respects, which was precisely why he had forced himself to walk to the Muggle cemetery where she was buried. Now that he was here, however, the words he wanted to speak caught in his throat, choking him. His throat felt constricted and his lungs burned for air, and before he could bite it back a sob escaped his lips. Severus bent forward, his arms wrapped around himself tightly as if he feared he might shatter otherwise, and listened to the distant sound of the wind howling, catching his keening whimpers and carrying them off.

"Forgive me," he whispered, when he could breathe enough to speak. "Lily, I never meant -- I never wanted -- I'm sorry," he cried out, covering his face with his hands and desperately clawing back the fragments of his composure. Severus Snape never cried, yet here he was, the tears flowing freely from his eyes and pooling in his dark lashes, his breath escaping in ragged gasps as he fought to control himself. "I should have been there."

As he fell silent, Severus tensed, listening even though he knew he would never heard Lily's voice speak to him again. She was gone, gone forever, and he could not expect redemption or forgiveness no matter how much he craved it. The realization cut him like a knife, another reminder of the many ways in which he had failed her. He had loved her with a depth and sincerity no other man was capable of, but had lacked the confidence and self-respect to keep her; he had let her go, allowed James to claim her and lead into a life that was nothing, absolutely nothing compared to what he himself could have offered her. Stupidly, he had traded her safety and her very life to feel momentarily appreciated by Voldemort, and although some, like Albus Dumbledore, had assured him it wasn't his fault, Severus knew he was completely to blame for her death. Now, due to his self-pity and the feelings of worthlessness he had never been able to shake, he had robbed the only person he had ever loved of his attendance at her funeral, and while a part of his whispered that Lily would not have cared, another part of him knew she would have been stung by his absence. The Lily he had known at Hogwarts would have waited for him with increasing impatience, feeling bad because he felt bad about himself. Lily would have worried about him, her heart breaking in sympathy if she had known the reasons that had kept him away.

Unable to bear either the separation or the grief any longer, Severus collapsed onto the grave, laying on his stomach on the fresh dirt. The ground was tinged with translucent patterns of frost that melted under his body heat, stinging him, but Severus was too intertwined with grief to notice the fading pain and subsequent numbness. Hands hooking into claws, Severus dug at the dirt with his fingers, only partially aware of what he was doing. All he knew was that he craved closeness; he needed to feel Lily's skin brushing against him in those touches that had seemed so accidental but were purely deliberate, to feel the silky texture of her hair as she rested her head on his shoulder the way she had in the library sometimes, towards the end of those late night study sessions. Severus had planned to appear stoic, sombre, noble, but those intentions were washed away in a fresh flood of tears and he let out a strangled sound that might have been a moan or a plea. All he could think of was her name, her touch, the way her green eyes had glittered when she had caught his glance across the room and smiled at him. He had even denied himself a last look at her face, ensuring he would never remember her with her brow perfectly smooth, her eyes closed and dreamless, her lips slightly parted and devoid of breath. How could he have let them put her in the ground without so much as a last farewell, a last kiss, a last murmured apology?

He may have come to the grave to answer that question, he was not sure; his mind was buzzing, thoughts incoherent. For what seemed like an eternity he lay there, wishing he could break though the bonds of life and death that separated them, dreaming of dying if only death would afford him a last chance to express his remorse properly. Eventually Severus found himself staggering upright, the last of the tears burning his eyes as he wiped them away with his sleeve, impatient with himself. The thin material of his lightweight cloak, insufficient for the weather, was wet here and there, though whether it was from his tears or the melting frost that covered her grave he did not know and did not particularly care. Inside, his pulse seemed subdued, his heart hollow. All the misery that had burned within him since that night he had arrived at Godric's Hollow too late to do anything but stare at the ruins seemed insufficient. Berating himself, Severus restrained the urge to dust off his cloak, not wanting to brush off the dirt from Lily's grave, all he had of her now. Lupin, no doubt, would be given what artifacts and personal possessions had been found in the decimated house, and anything that remained would be set aside for the child that so resembled James; all Severus had were memories. He wished Lily would offer him a sign, some symbol that her affection for him had not been destroyed by his blunderers. At Hogwarts, Lily had been in possession of a famous temper, but she had always been quick to forgive. Still, Severus did not hold out much hope for himself. He had loved her and he had lost her, in more ways than one. She owed him nothing. He would not permit himself to feel the pang of shattered hope; there would be no signs for him, he knew.

Heaving a heavy sigh, Severus dragged his sleeve over his eyes, blotting out the remaining sheen of tears. His eyes were still red and they hurt from crying, but as usual he had no sympathy for himself. The first and only person to truly care about him was dead, and since he was to blame there would be no pity for himself. He did not even deserve these, the grave-side farewells, even though he knew he would return often. It had always been so peaceful, speaking to Lily, that Severus knew it would be impossible to give that up, even though Lily could no longer respond. Perhaps next time he would bring something, flowers perhaps, some symbol that he had been there and that he had not forgotten her and never would, and while no one else would understand, he could at least fool himself with the illusion that Lily would know.

The wind had picked up in the time Severus had spent at the grave. Overhead, the sky was darker, the clouds forming an impenetrable blanket that blocked out all but the faint, whitish-grey light of the approaching snowstorm. Severus tipped his head back, studying the sky for a moment. He was qualified to Apparate, but he would punish himself by forcing himself to walk home instead, trudging though the hours back to the hovel in London where he currently resided. Perhaps he would freeze, if the snow spilled from the clouds above and the temperature dropped as he predicted, but the thought was strangely comforting; entertaining thoughts of his own demise had become a pleasure and a luxury of late, for it would not be until death that he would lay eyes on Lily again. Bitter, Severus bit his lip against the chill wind and suppressed a shudder, imagining how Lily would scold him for his macabre thoughts. She had always fought his self-hatred, struggled against it like an enemy, trying time and again to convince him of his worth; Severus knew she would be disappointed and saddened if she knew how he was feeling and what he was considering. Closing his eyes, Severus made a silent wish that she could give him a sign, something to show him she was still there and did not fault him or despise him for everything he had done.

Impulsively, Severus glanced over his shoulder back to the grave. James was buried beside Lily, but her grave seemed oddly solitary, as though she was not truly connected to the man buried at her side. However, it was not the other marker that caught Severus's eye. A single pure white lily had pushed its way up through the hard, icy ground of the grave and was blooming, silently opening its pedals in a complete defiance of nature. Blooming in the frosty air, its face tilted up to a sky that offered no warmth or comfort, the flower remained even as Severus blinked and peered critically at it, partially convinced he was suffering some happy delusion brought on by stress and desire. He caught his breath after a moment and turned, his heart still aching but the terrible weight gone from his shoulders. Although he did not look back as he strode forward, clutching his cloak to his chin to shield himself from the frigid gusts of wind, he knew the flower remained, his symbol that some atrocities could be forgiven.


End file.
